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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23334229">One for Sorrow</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kefira/pseuds/Kefira'>Kefira</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Mercy Thompson Series - Patricia Briggs</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Bran's Kind of a Creep, But I do feel bad for him, F/M, I'm Sorry, POV Second Person, Unrequited Love, but not really</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 06:41:19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>614</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23334229</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kefira/pseuds/Kefira</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A short piece on roughly twenty years of longing</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Bran Cornick/Mercy Thompson</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>31</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>One for Sorrow</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>All your life is such a shame, shame, shame<br/>All your love is just a dream, dream, dream<br/>- Counting Crows, "Murder of One"</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>You walk in on your son holding the one you love and your heart stops. Jealousy sticks in your throat and mixes with guilt to become rage. Rage at his selfishness. Rage at her foolishness. Rage at yourself most of all. You, the most selfish and foolish of all. Pressure builds and builds and you want to scream. You want to force him to his knees. You want to throw her on her back. You want to make her yours while they both beg. You want to kneel before her and put your heart in her hands. To tell her that he doesn't love her. Not like you do. Like you always will. You want to promise her an eternity you've sworn to another. You want a salvation you can never have and have never deserved.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>~*~</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>You stand in the room that used to be hers, in the house that used to be her home. She's free now. Free to be normal. Free from you and the rest of the monsters that have filled her life. You crumble around yourself and curl in the bed that used to be hers. Her scent surrounds you. You let it consume you, let yourself weep for all the might have beens. The lives you might have led. You let your heart shatter and swear this will be the last time.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>~*~</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She stands before you again after so many years. She shouldn’t be here after so many years. So many years and so little and so much has changed. She's taller now, her breasts fuller, her hips wider. You pretend not to notice, struggle not to stare. Your mate is still a threat to her, your son still desires her. There’s worry in her eyes and exhaustion lines her face as she begins to speak. You set emotion aside, order your pack to action. You know you should let her go again. Set her free again without giving her your card and practically begging her to call. You don't. You can't. You're not strong enough.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>~*~</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She's been hurt. Hurt in the worst way. You have to see her. You don't mean to wake her. Only mean to watch her. Only want to see her safe. She wakes all the same and you watch her expression shift from startled terror to comfort at your presence. She begs your advice and you resign yourself to a lifetime of this. Of advising and reassuring and comforting and never touching. Never holding. Your son enters the room and sits beside her. He knows you too well. You see it in his eyes. He knows how badly you want to steal her away. Lock her away. Keep her safe. Safe with you. You can't. You can't. She needs to be free. Would die in a cage. She has a mate now. A pack now. They'll protect her. Protect her where you've failed. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>~*~</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She's getting married today. You know what she wants. Know what she needs from you. You put on your best suit and your best smile. You give her your arm and straighten your shoulders and walk her down the aisle. You give the woman who used to be a girl who used to be yours away to a man who can love her as she deserves. Who she loves. Who she loves. He looks into your eyes as you give him your warning. You wonder if he can see your heart. See your truth. You don't let yourself imagine how sweet his blood would taste in your mouth. You go home to your mate and your empty bed. You tell yourself it's over. It's over. It never was and it's over. </span>
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